Another Auld Lang Syne
by Cardinal Robbins
Summary: SVU AU -- As midnight approaches, John Munch thinks about the previous 12 months and what they mean to him. Before the ball drops in Times Square, Sgt. Munch waits for someone special to celebrate the moment with him.


"Another Auld Lang Syne"

by Cardinal Robbins

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Disclaimer: John Munch belongs to Dick Wolf, but Sarah Zelman belongs to me.

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Into the late hours of December 31st, 2008, John Munch was alone in his apartment with only Iron Butterfly to break the silence, as the vinyl LP played softly in the background. Benson had called him earlier, the din of a nightclub's New Year's Eve party almost drowning out her side of the conversation as she wished him well in the coming year. She'd mentioned Stabler was home with Kathy, both of them wondering where their eldest daughter was on the cold, clear night.

He knew where his partners were, Zelman and Tutuola, both of them wrapping up paperwork on the last case of the current year. John had completed his part of the proceedings early on, knowing Sarah would work until every last detail had been completed before she ventured home. Fin would file his D-D5 via e-mail to Cragen, eager to go see a few friends and have a celebratory beer as they watched the ball drop on someone's big screen HDTV.

Munch leaned his head back against the arm of the sofa as he stretched out, the semi-darkness of the room lulling him into a contemplative mood. Three hundred and sixty-five days, fifty-two weeks, twelve short months…all of it added up to a year that left him wondering what he'd accomplished and, more importantly, what had eluded him over the relatively quick period of time.

He'd closed over ninety percent of his cases, bringing justice to the victims and their families, more so to those who had been murdered and couldn't speak for themselves. He had been their advocate, their avenger, righting in some small way the atrocities that changed or even claimed their lives in what was often thought of as a harsh, bitter city. His lost sleep had paid off, the work reinvigorating him with every successful apprehension and conviction. Somewhere between the plusses and minuses, he'd trumped the odds and won.

When it came to his career with the NYPD and Special Victims, it wasn't just about those who suffered. He'd personally grown, thanks to the sergeant's stripes on his dress uniform. It wasn't only about out-ranking Stabler, who'd been with the squad longer than he had, nor was it about getting to the top of his pay scale – which honestly hadn't been the point. No, it was bittersweet…a mix of new responsibilities, sometimes relinquishing the old. Instead of his Glock 34 snug against him in his shoulder holster as he worked on the streets, there were times when he took it from his belt holster and temporarily housed it in his desk drawer as he pushed paperwork and supervised.

He didn't mind carrying water for Don Cragen, but there were times when he wanted a hell of a lot less red tape in the bargain. While he craved and enjoyed working with either of his partners out on the mean streets, every now and then he silently rebelled at slogging through winter's worst as he was buffeted by the wind and cold. It was a double-edged sword – be the guy who dictates the action or be an integral part of it, rain or shine. There were still plenty of days when he was hard-pressed to know which edge he'd tread.

John thought of Casey Novak, the fiery ex-ADA who'd been so pointlessly disbarred by the State of New York for doing nothing more than her mentor would have done – and probably had done – years before. The cruelty of Casey's exit still left a bitter taste in his mouth, as it did his squad mates, the acidic tang worsened by the entrance of Kim Greylek to their judicial arsenal. He had little use for Greylek, as did the others, thinking she was all blow and no show with her blind arrogance and utter lack of finesse. She was one of those people who made his daily grind harder than it had to be.

Sarah Zelman was Greylek's antithesis, doing whatever she could to liberate Munch from being mired in needless paperwork so he could spend as much time as he wanted on the streets, working his cases relentlessly with backup from her and Fin. The satisfaction spilled over into his personal life as well, Sarah still discreetly wearing the blue topaz ring he'd given her years before, so long as they were going somewhere her ring finger wouldn't turn into a topic of conversation at the precinct. Cragen continued to turn a blind eye toward their relationship, which had only improved with time and proximity, despite Stabler's perverse delight when disagreements did rear their ugly head.

She gave him his way, but not because she had to; it was because they meshed well together. There was no need to placate in-laws on the eve of a new year, as had been the case with Gwen. Nor had he suffered loud parties filled with vapid people who seemed to have been educated only through the popular press, as he'd agonizingly experienced with wives Nancy and Maria. He was especially grateful Sarah didn't yearn to be with huge crowds of people as had Billie Lou, who had tried to be the center of attention at all costs. His Sarah wasn't against a small celebration among close friends, but she preferred his company to that of others, especially to reflect on the past and look forward to the future. He chuckled to himself over the fact she still refused to marry him.

He got up from the couch, stretched and looked at the clock. It was 11:45 p.m. as he readied a bottle of reasonably-priced champagne and two fluted glasses on the table near the sofa. Five minutes later, he heard her key in the door lock, as she breathlessly entered his still semi-darkened domicile.

"Hey, I'm here," she said brightly. "I'm glad you didn't start without me."

"For a minute, I thought you might miss the moment," he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. "I take it you finished your paperwork?" He caught her in a firm embrace before he even thought of helping her out of her black leather coat.

"We're all set, Sarge," she replied, grinning as she allowed herself to be led into his small living room, her coat momentarily draped near the door.

"Enough of that 'Sarge' business," he quipped. "Right now, it's just you and me – no jobs, no worries, only us." He bent to fill the two flutes, taking care not to overfill the glasses.

"You could have changed out of your suit, if you'd wanted." She knew he'd been waiting a long time for her to return home.

"It's always more fun to do that with you," he replied, knowing what would happen later. He turned on the television, preferring to keep it on 'mute' as they saw the ball perched high above Times Square. He took her into a tight hug, his lips warm against her ear. "This year, as always, you've been the best thing to ever happen to me," he said softly.

"Don't you dare make me cry, John," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "We're the best thing that's ever happened to each other." Sharing a deep kiss, they almost forgot about the sparkling wine already poured and waiting. Out of the corner of his eye, John saw the ball start to descend as they picked up their glasses and quietly counted down the seconds.

As the ball strobed live on television from Times Square, as celebrating could be heard on the streets below them, they shared sips of champagne between kisses. "Happy New Year, babe," he said, a genuinely happy smile on his face.

"Same to you, sweetheart," Sarah replied, grinning. "Now about that suit…"

They began the new year as they had the old one, because the more some things change, the more they remain the same.

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